Unruly

The tiny rubber hairs reach and retract
For ground.
August grasping pavement for July;
Tiny children rowing backward-
Eclipsed
By the mist
Of
What's
Missing.

Hallowed soil chest.
Hair kinking;
Taut raisin mouth
Binding
Everything I cannot say.

Summer at 26
Is summer at 16
Is summer at 12.

Heat smothers
Womb fruits.

I go back to dust.

I ride my bike
So far down Grey Street--

It's
As if I
Never was.